Call In Sick
by Peggy-chan the anime fan
Summary: Bakura is sick at home and Ryou comes home to take care of him. RxB yaoi, fluff! First fanfic so read and review!


Hello people, this is my first fanfic. It's Ryou x Bakura, so if you don't like it then that's your problem! It's very fluffy and Bakura's a bit OOC in my ficcy though… it's hard making people mean to Ryou-koi, especially Bakura… ah well, on with the ficcy!

Disclaimer: I don't own Yugioh. If I did, Bakura and Kaiba would walk around without a shirt on, and Tèa would most likely be dead. sigh c'est la vie.

Call in Sick

By Peggy-chan

"RYOU!"

That was the first thing I heard as I entered my house. I sighed, brushing back snow white hair from my pale face. My yami, Bakura, had decided to stay home instead of going to school today. I didn't argue seeing as my Yami tended to inflict pain upon people - in this case, me – if he didn't get his way. And, in case you hadn't known, pain hurts. A lot.

But he had seemed a little off, greeting me this morning without his usual curses and insults, and I admit I felt worried. Seeing him sitting there, looking even paler than usual as he attempted to digest his cereal, brought on an unusual "motherly" instinct in me, so when he said he was feeling sickly, I let him stay home. Usually, I'd drag him off to school so that he could learn to be around other people and therefore hurt me less… err I mean act more civilized, but I tucked him back into bed, giving him advice such as "drink lots of orange juice"; you know that sort of thing instead. I hope he's better, for his sake and mine. I don't want to have to take care of a sick, homicidal maniac, no matter how evil or ancient he is.

"HIKARI!"

"I'M COMING!" I hollered back, flinging my bag onto the sofa and racing upstairs to his room, which he had claimed since he got a body. "What…" The question died on my lips as I saw Bakura wearing nothing but a pair of boxers, his toned chest glittering with what I thought was sweat, but knowing my yami, it could be anything. Many a hentai picture filled my head as my heart skipped a beat.

"Ryou," he whined slightly, too preoccupied with his problems to notice my rapidly reddening face. "I have a fever." "Let me see," I said, instantly concerned as I felt his forehead. He did feel a little hot, but then again, he is always hot (in more ways than one wink wink nudge nudge). "Bakura, you should get some rest so that you could feel better" I scolded, the eerie "mother" instinct replacing my embarrassment. "You don't want to have to go to the doctor, now do you?" "But the pharaoh will think I'm weak, what with this 'resting and recuperating' business," he protested pouting cutely. "Baka pharaoh, his head will swell even more." I couldn't help smiling. He was so cute when he complained about the pharaoh… wait a minute, did I just think that? Shaking these thoughts out of my head, I returned to the task previously at hand: Nursing my yami back to health. Displaying firmness I didn't even know I had, I dragged him to the bed, and pushed him down. "The 'pharaoh' will think you're even weaker if you take weeks to get better from a measly cold," I pointed out, wagging my index finger at him. "If you go to bed now, you'll get better sooner, and your health, pride and my sanity will remain intact. So go to bed now, mister." He sneezed and wiped his nose with the back of his hand, an adorable yet disgusting and totally unsanitary act. I handed him a tissue.

"Make me some chicken soup," he grumbled, blowing his nose and settling back into his bed. Assuming this meant that he was going to do as I asked instead of walking around and making himself even worse, I skipped downstairs to do as he had asked, fully aware that this was probably the first time he'd ever do as I'd asked… and most definitely the last. I took out a packet of ramen and started boiling it, remembering the first time I had ever seen my yami. Quite frankly, it scared the pants off of me.

It had actually happened a few years back, when my father had first given me the millennium ring. He had found it in a market stall in the backstreets of Cairo, and had been extremely surprised that something so valuable had been sold for a couple of pounds and a cheap bracelet, but then again the man who had sold it to him had no idea what it was. Believing it to be an ancient artifact and therefore of some interest to me, he presented it to me with a flourish and watched my eyes go wide with amazement and gratitude, then promptly whisked away to Nigeria, leaving me alone. That night, I wore it to bed with me, more to remind me of my father than anything else. I received one heck of a fright the next morning when I stood in front of the mirror and saw not me but someone else. The person in the mirror looked like me, but didn't (as crazy as that sounds,) and I reeled back, horrified.

The reflection in the mirror had long spiky hair, like mine, but it was wilder. It – or rather, he- had brown eyes, but had none of the innocence my eyes portrayed. Instead, they had a wolfish gleam in them, sparkling with dark thoughts that accentuated the sharpness of his features, his pointy chin and leaner frame, which were all unlike my round face and "effeminate" (as my friends called it) features. I clutched my chest in pure fright at seeing this twisted version of myself, my heart pounding, my breath haggard as I stared. "W-who a-are y-y-y-you?" I stammered, shivering. "I am your worst nightmare," the reflection replied, then let out a spine tingling cackle that rattled through my very bones.

Shaking myself out of my reverie, I sighed. "That was the first time we met," I thought to myself, stirring the soup in front of me, which was almost ready. That had been two years ago and since then I have been abused, along with others around me that I care about. I had to take care of him, cook for him, clean for him and obey every single one of his commands. I've been beaten, punched, kicked, and slapped. I don't even need to sign in to the hospital and they've already saved a special seat for me because I'm their most frequent patient, friends and teachers have asked me if I'm having "family troubles", random people on the _street_ have come up to me and asked me if I have family trouble, and yet still I say "oh no, perfectly fine, right then cheerio," and everyone believes me because I'm Ryou and I've never lied before, so why would I now? And I'm sure that you're wondering why I lie, too. It's not because Bakura has threatened to kill me if I tell, or because I'm afraid that my life will fall apart or that they'll put me in an orphanage or something. It's because of this one little feeling that I've had since I first saw Bakura. One little feeling that has been growing inside of me since day one.

Love.

Yeah, I'm gay. Got a problem with that? Ah, but he'd never love me the way I love him. He doesn't even love me at all. To him I'm just his servant and I'll have to live with that, if it means that I get to be around him every day and to feel him touch me… even if it is contact in a negative way. (Not that negative, perverts!)

Turning off the stove, I took out a bowl and poured some of the soup into it and laid it on a tray with a spoon and some bread. I carried the tray up the stairs, and balanced it on one hand as I knocked on the door with my other hand. Last time I didn't knock, Bakura punched me in the face. The bruises took a month to heal, and I had to cover them up with so much makeup that I could be Revlon's new cover girl. Even though he's sick, better safe than sorry.

I knocked twice, and then waited, but there was no reply. Curious, I set the tray down by the door and opened it. "Bakura-san, are you…" I trailed off as I saw my hell's angel (pardon the pun) asleep on the bed, looking as innocent asleep as he looks evil awake. Grinning to myself and my thoughts, I quietly tiptoed into his room and laid my hand on his forehead. He seemed to be cooling down a bit, which meant he was getting better, thank God. Smiling fondly, I brushed back his spiky white hair that was plastered to his forehead by sweat. Slowly, my fingers brushed against his lips, stroked his chin and went through his silky, slightly damp locks, feeling its softness. He mumbled something softly in his sleep and I withdrew my hand, holding it against my chest. I loved the times when I could touch him without having fear of him hurting me or saying something cutting, when I could watch him without him knowing, or just being in his presence. He rolled over in his sleep and I placed a gentle kiss on his warm cheek, sighed and whispered, "Have a nice sleep, Bakura-san." I left the room and closed the door behind me

Picking up the tray, I decided to go downstairs and do my homework, deciding that if the embodiment of an Egyptian god a.k.a. Bakura wanted anything, he'll call me when he wakes up. I put the tray in the kitchen, then sat in the living room and began my homework.

After finishing all my homework, in which I had to call Malik for help whilst his yami was doing something in the background (must have been something good though; Malik kept making funny noises, then in the end hung up sounding very out of breath), I decided to warm up the soup. Not bothering to warm it on the stove, I stuffed the bowl of soup meant for Bakura into the microwave and warmed it up, then went into the living room and began eating it in front of the T.V. There was a marathon of The Nanny on and I wanted to see if Mr. Sheffield proposes to Nanny Fine yet. Settling down to eat, I began absent-mindedly shoveling soup in my mouth, trying not to choke as I giggled over Niles the butler's escapades, when I noticed that my soup bowl wasn't in my hands anymore. "Hey where's my soup?" I asked aloud looking around as if I expected it to be hovering in the air.

I came face to face with Yami Bakura.

"Mmm," he said, grinning wolfishly as he licked his lips. "Not bad, Hikari." It took me a moment to realize that he was talking about the soup I had cooked, and the blush that had settled on my cheeks were replaced by a pout as I realized that my soup had just been stolen from me by Bakura. "Hey, give me back my soup!" I protested, leaning forward and attempting to reclaim my soup. Bakura was faster though, and he moved out of my grasp, swallowing the rest of my soup in one gulp. He gave me the empty bowl and grinned some more. "You can have the rest!" "What rest! You ate all my soup!" I retorted, frowning. He ruffled my hair fondly and grinned. "There's more, isn't there? Make yourself some," he commented. I wasn't sure if I had put something in the soup by accident or if I was getting Bakura's cold, but I started laughing suddenly. The grin that was gracing Bakura's face disappeared, to be replaced by a confused scowl. "What's so funny?" he demanded, brown eyes glittering dangerously. I wiped tears of laughter away and tried to stop myself from laughing. "It-it just…you just sound so…" I couldn't finish my sentence because I was still giggling. "'So' what?" he asked dangerously, instantly killing the laughter that was coming out of me and saving me from whatever hernia that may or may not have been sustained from my laughing. I gulped as I noticed the scary look my yami was getting on his face.

"So nice," I replied, gulping nervously. "So nice, hmm?" he asked me, leaning forward. I could feel his breath on my face as he loomed closer, his brown eyes locked with mine. I gasped and nodded as he laid a warm hand on my cheek. "Y-y-yes," I stammered nervously, feeling his fingers stroke my face gently, his scary, dangerous look turning into a scary, naughty look (yes that naughty, perverts!) "Hmm, maybe I should see where this 'niceness' leads, don't you think, Hikari?" I shivered, my face turning ten different shades of red. Bakura grinned sexily (at least I thought he looked sexy) and moved even closer until our noses were touching. "Red suits you, Ryou," he breathed softly, a lustful look appearing on his visage. Slowly, he pressed his lips to mine. Startled, I tensed, then relaxed into his kiss, feeling his arms wrap around my waist. Exhilaration coursed through my veins as I felt him deepen the kiss. Running his hands through my hair, he pushed me slowly down onto the sofa, kissing me passionately. He pulled away suddenly and stared at me, panting, and I was sure I was doing the same. Suddenly, he picked me up and carried me bridal-style up the steps. "Come, Ryou," he whispered devilishly, "let me show you the true meaning of 'nice'."

3 hours. That's the time he took to show me 'nice', and I must admit, he was thorough in showing me nice. Very thorough. So thorough, in fact, that I nearly died of happiness around the fourth time he-

"Don't you look happy," he commented, smirking at my red face. Not yet recovered from the pools of ecstasy he just plunged me in, I could only nod, a dreamy smile playing on my lips. Surprisingly, he laughed and kissed my neck, making me turn even redder. Gently, he ran a finger up and down my sides. Huh. And people say my yami isn't shy.

"Ryou?" he asked curiously. "Mmhmm," I replied softly, snuggling up to Bakura's chest. "Why do I make you blush?" he asked. 'Damn, why am I so obvious?' I berated myself. Quickly, I rolled over to my other side, facing away from him. "I don't know what you're talking about!" I squeaked nervously, coughing fakely. Unfortunately for me, Bakura is very very strong. Grabbing me, he rolled me over onto my back and sat on my stomach, holding the sides of my head so that I could not look away. "Hikari," he said slowly, leaning forward and glaring slightly. "I have been very patient with you today, because you were helping me in my sickness. Now I am better, and my patience is wearing thin. You have been blushing all day, and now I want to know… why you are blushing?" he asked again, his voice growing more menacing with every syllable. I gulped nervously, and tried to look away, but to no avail. Bakura kept a tight hold on my head and I could feel tears welling up in my eyes as his glare grew fiercer. "Why?" he repeated menacingly, leaning in closer and closer. My heart began to race… this was too much for me to bear…

"BECAUSE I LOVE YOU, OKAY!" I burst out, the tears I had been holding in spilling down my cheeks. Feeling the coolness of his hands leave my face, I shut my eyes and turned my head, sobbing. "I-I-I'm sorry, but I l-l-love y-y-you s-s-so m-m-much," I hiccoughed, expecting him to slap me or do something equally painful. Suddenly I felt a pair of lips kiss slowly up my neck, nipping on my earlobe. I gasped, shivering slightly.

"Mmm, hikari, be more responsive to your new lover," he whispered gently, as I felt slender fingers ghost over my damp cheeks. Slowly I turned my head and opened my eyes. Bakura was smiling down at me, looking almost sweet. Almost.

"I… don't understand. You…. You love me too?" I asked tentatively, bracing myself for heartbreak. Surprisingly, instead of hitting or cackling at me, he gave me a slow passionate kiss on the lips. Wiping the teardrops that still glistened on my face, he finally got off me and chuckled. "Yes my hikari, I love you too," he replied, amusement residing in his tone. "Now, let's go to sleep; we have to go to school in the morning.

The next morning, I woke up to an empty bed. For a moment I thought that he had left me because he thought I had acted weak last night, until I realized that he was probably downstairs having cornflakes, which is actually the only thing that he can make without doing damage to me, himself or the house. Getting up and stretching, I pulled on a pair of pants and raced downstairs. As I had suspected, my new koibito was sitting at the table, wearing a pair of boxers and slurping the milk from his cereal bowl. Pausing in his daily morning consuming of food, my beautiful yami looked up at me, dark brown glittering.

"Ohayo gozaimasu, hikari," he said, grinning at me as I entered the kitchen. "Had a nice sleep?" "Oh, it was so-so," I replied teasingly, giggling. Snorting, he wrapped his arms around my waist from the back, and kissed my earlobe. "So-so? You seemed to enjoy last night a lot," he whispered sexily in my ear. "What with you moaning and screaming my name and all," I groaned softly. "Mmm Baku-chan, behave," I murmured, detangling myself from his lightly muscled arms (however little I wanted to). Turning around, I felt his forehead.

"Baku-chan, looks like you're all better now," I announced, smiling. Bakura pouted. "So this means that I have to go to school?" he complained. "Afraid so," I said, patting him on the head. "Unless…" Suddenly I fell to the floor, grabbing my stomach and groaning. "Ryou-koi, are you alright?" Bakura asked, panicked as he bent down and cradled me in his arms. I grinned slightly and played with a lock of his hair, twirling it around my finger. "I don't know, I don't feel so good," I replied. "Maybe I should stay home and… recuperate."

Bakura grinned foxily at me. "And maybe," he said, bending down to capture my lips in a fiery kiss. "I should stay home to take care of you."

Owari!

A/n: Wow, I'm finally done with my first fanfic! I am so proud of myself! What do you think, good, bad, soppy, what? Please review! (Flames are accepted, I like fire! It's pretty!) And there's still more ficcies to come (when I don't feel too lazy.)


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